


The Winged Sleeper

by variableIntroversion



Series: After The End Of The World [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Local Legends, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, indeterminate pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 05:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variableIntroversion/pseuds/variableIntroversion
Summary: When a sleeping sprite with an uncanny resemblance to the Hero of Time is discovered, the residents of Can Town can only make assumptions about what it all means.
Series: After The End Of The World [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528694
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	The Winged Sleeper

**Author's Note:**

> A bit different from my usual fare, but Grubbutts gave me Ideas, and it was fun to run with them.

He was found in a former Prospitan's new home, curled up in a deep slumber that no cautious greetings or tentative prods could break. Most were uncertain of who he was. A bare few recognized him from glimpses gleaned on the battlefield; the orange, winged creature that accompanied the Witch of Space. Some knew him from a golden ship, travelling a great distance in a strange dimension. The Mayor of the town recognized him best, this feathered stranger that resembled one of the heroes who had kept him company for three years. The one who had saved his life from a fiery death.

A shrine was built, humble thanks to their limited resources, but sturdy and well-sheltered from the elements. The sleeper barely stirred when he was carried to his new resting place. The nest of pillows and bed sheets seemed to suit him well, and he settled among them in seconds before falling perfectly still once more.

It was a promise of the heroes', residents whispered among themselves. Another sign that one day, they would return. Surely the sleeper would wake then, they reasoned.

The years began to pass, and the town began to grow. The shrine began to grow. What started as a humble wooden building grew into a stone temple, sturdy and extravagant in only the way Carapacian architecture could be. The bed of the winged sleeper migrated deeper into the heart of the building, safe and secure, lit dimly with torches. Bright, but not too much so. Perfect for eyes that hadn't opened in some time, though none were sure how long it would truly be.

Incense burned sweetly in the air, filling it with soothing, heady scents. Voices were lowered to whispers, hushed out of respect and care for the temple's sole resident. The sleeper remained untouched for all but the rare event of refreshing his bedding, every decade bringing about newer, cozier accommodations.

Some would pray, knelt at the mouth of the temple. Imploring the gods to return, for the hero inside to awaken soon. Some left offerings - good luck charms, perfumes, special lanterns, hoping that in exchange they would be well rested and granted good dreams.

Nobody thought to inform the gods of their slumbering ally, when they at last showed themselves once more. How rude it would seem, to imply that they were unaware of one of their own. Those who lived near the temple, who tended to it, all seemed to collectively hold their breaths for the sleeper to awaken. Now was the time, was it not?

...No, it seemed that wasn't the case. When days turned into weeks, and then months, and then years again, it was clear that the sleeper would not rouse himself. Nor did the returned heroes seem to have any interest in such.

That was, until nearly three years after the gods' arrival. How odd, that this hero who vaguely resembled the winged sleeper didn't seem to know what the temple contained. As if he would not already be well aware. But still he asked, and those he approached gave what answers they could. Not a soul would dream of preventing one of the heroes from entering the temple, when he set out for it. Not a soul would dare intrude, once he had entered.

What a shock it was, over an hour later, when the hero emerged with the woken sleeper at his side. Shocking, yet...surprisingly anticlimactic. The winged one was shy, quiet, reclusive. He mumbled his words and the hero would repeat them with authority, like a public voice for his new companion. A house of the former sleeper's choosing was offered - a humble little thing in a quiet neighborhood. The woken one took to it, and didn't emerge for days.

Had he fallen asleep again, some wondered? No one would risk committing the offense of intruding to check, in case they were wrong. It wasn't their place besides, now that the other heroes had returned.

In the end, it was needless worry anyways.

Once again, startling yet uneventful, the woken one wandered out into the world. Quietly, unobtrusively. He kept to himself, not meeting anyone’s eyes as far as they could tell, nor stopping to make conversation. He wasn't out long. Down the street, then back to his home for a time. The next day was much the same. And the next, and the one after that. Slowly, it became a part of daily routine. No longer a surprise, no longer a spectacle. It was rude to stare, anyways.

It was some time after his explorations began, though it seemed awfully presumptuous to call his outings such a thing, that the former sleeper spoke to a passerby. It wasn’t much, just a simple inquiry about local shops and where he might get a favored beverage. Directions were offered to the nearest store, just a short six block walk away. The sleeper pursed his lips, frowned, and thanked the stranger before disappearing back into his home.

A bottle of apple juice was left on the winged hero's doorstep, the next day. Those who were nearby to observe watched as he paused at the sight of it, avoided his gaze as he looked around. Nobody would mark themself as the one responsible for the gift, but some fellow was surely gratified to see the sleeper sipping from the bottle on his walk that day.

That became a part of daily routine, too. The anonymous gifters continued to leave a bottle or two of apple juice for the resident hero. The hero continued to drink them as he indulged in his ever-expanding wanderings. Gradually, the only oddities were the occasional visits from the one who had woken the sleeper. Yet even then, that grew to be a part of normal life as well.

Incense continued to burn in the temple. It sat empty but remained well-preserved, filled with historic significance instead of a slumbering hero. Fresh offerings still glittered at an alter within, while ones from times long past lined shelves on the walls.

The legend of the winged sleeper grew dated, but it would remain a part of the town. From then onwards, for another day of simple suburban routine, for another five thousand years now free from waiting.


End file.
